


Kinktober Day 23: Somnophilia w/Bucky Barnes

by sweeterthanthis



Series: Kinktober 2020 [22]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of prescription drugs, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Stalking, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29112729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthanthis/pseuds/sweeterthanthis
Summary: He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, The Winter Soldier/Reader
Series: Kinktober 2020 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134725
Comments: 2
Kudos: 97





	Kinktober Day 23: Somnophilia w/Bucky Barnes

He’d watched you ever since that day. The way your wide, horrified eyes wept as he carried out his mission haunted him. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt any kind of emotion.

Had he ever?

Maybe it was the way you instinctively reached for him when the target had put a bullet through his shoulder, your kind nature shining through even amongst the deadly situation unfolding in front of you.

You’d been terrified, truly; a mess of anxiety and misery every night since the attack on your boss.

He’d thought he was alone that night, just him and the target. But when that scent of lavender vanilla clouded his senses, something inside of him broke down that steel wall built by Hydra. He’d spotted you, hunched in the corner, shaking like a dog, his eyes on you only while he popped three bullets in the targets head.

He hadn’t stuck around, that wasn’t part of his M.O.

But he’d watched you trembling beneath that thermal blanket, comforted, and questioned by police officers and paramedics. There was a darkness in those pretty eyes, one that he had no doubt that he’d put there.

It had been two months. Two months of watching you from a distance. He’d follow you around the market sometimes, at least fifty feet behind you at all times, without a clue why he was even doing it. It was just automatic. That was his life now.

Exterminate the target, check on the girl.

No matter where he was, no matter what continent, he’d always end up back in the same place. Standing below your bedroom window, listening to the sounds of you sobbing as you tried desperately to drift off to a headspace much more peaceful than the one you lived in now. It was hard wired, and he did it without question.

“James, please…”

His name rolled off your tongue and he felt a lump form in his throat, still getting used to hearing it himself after the global news coverage. The way your voice cracked, the way it trembled, it pained him. His advanced hearing was useful, no doubt, but the way your broken little voice echoed through the cool night air was haunting.

He couldn’t help himself, emerging from the shadows and making his way through the front door of your apartment building, baseball cap low over his face and metal hand shoved in his jean pocket.

The way he picked your lock was effortless, imprinted in his brain like a blueprint. He slipped in, looking left and right for witnesses before clicking your front door closed behind him. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in your apartment, not that you ever knew. He picked up the bottle on the sideboard. Your psychiatrist had prescribed you Zopiclone to help you sleep, and it had worked. A little too well at times.

When you found yourself in the depths of a dark nightmare, you could no longer shake yourself of it; forced to live it out all over again within the confines of your head.

He stood in your bedroom doorway, his eyes raking over your helpless form all curled up, your lips pouted beautifully, and your hair splayed out all around your head like a halo. You were gorgeous, the sillouhette of your body in the moonlight always made him throb. You were perfect, and there was no doubt about that to him.

“Yes, oh…”

His eyes flitted up to your face, your brow furrowed sweetly, and lips parted in a perfect ‘o’ shape. That all too familiar scent of lavender vanilla surrounded him, but it was different this time – mixed with a lingering hue of musk that made him want to pull you close.

It was nightmares usually, bone-wracking night terrors that made him feel helpless and small. But tonight, something was different. The way your toes curled, and your fingertips gripped the pillow next to your head; you were dreaming about something else entirely. And he just couldn’t fucking help himself.

He stood before you, knuckles dragging across your cheek softly, a soft whine falling from your lips causing his cold heart to swell. His hand travelled lower, tracing the column of your throat and dancing over your bare collarbone.

You rolled onto your back then, giving him a fright as he jumped back a little; your body exposed, and only a plain white tank top and matching panties covering your delicate flesh.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your nipples, the way they peaked through the thin material, the outline of your areola’s tempting him. He couldn’t help himself, fingertips dancing down over your breasts, feather-light strokes of his thumb across your swollen buds.

You keened, arching your back a little, thighs falling apart as if instinctively. Deep down, he knew it was wrong, but in that very moment he just couldn’t bring himself to care. You were so soft, so beautiful.

The complete opposite of what he represented.

“Please…”

He didn’t know what you were begging for, but he knew what he wanted. He just knew.

He knew you were sleeping, knew that your body was reacting to something bigger than his presence. But he just couldn’t help himself.

Lifting his metal hand, dragging the tips of his foreign fingers across your stomach softly, you shivered – a cold chill running through you, yet not enough to wake you from your blissful slumber.

You were soaked, the dark patch sitting in the gusset of your panties the evidence of your arousal. A primal sound rumbled low in the back of his throat, his flesh hand dipping just below the waistband of your panties; your hips wriggling as your body tried to edge closer to his touch.

He removed his cap, pulling his shirt up over his head, the sudden urge to feel your skin on his clouding his judgement.

Metal hand resting on the mattress, his free hand glided up your calf, caressing your knee with the pad of his thumb. You were so warm, so inviting. It drove him to the point of madness, the way your bottom lip quivered as his finger tips rose ever closer to the apex of your thighs.

Lips pressed against the hollow of your throat, he inhaled deeply, feeling a calm wash over him. He couldn’t help the moan that emitted from him when he slipped his index finger through your soaked folds. That very same finger was between his own lips in an instant, the primal desire to taste you overtaking any other thought in his head.

Tugging down your tank top with care, the straps falling around your shoulders loosely, he nestled his cheek tenderly against your bosom.

Your breathing was heavy against him, your warm breath fanning his forehead as he rested between your legs, lips dragging against your breasts, his tongue darting out just a little to taste your soft peaks.

“Mmm…” his eyes flickered up to your face, your eyes still closed, facial muscles relaxed. “James”

The name was familiar to him, his name. The human beneath the dark cover of the Soldat. You were dreaming of him, and it only served to make his cock throb wantingly beneath the cover of his jeans.

His open mouth trailed down your sternum, tongue dipping into your belly button just so, his stubble scratching against your skin — enough to make you writhe beneath him.

Part of him wanted you to wake, wanted you to look in his eyes as he hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of your panties, to watch him as he dragged them down over your thighs.

His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of your glistening core, pretty pussy lips encasing the soft, swollen pearl between them.

He couldn’t help himself, hot breath fanning against your sensitive flesh, his nose nudging against your clit — inhaling the delicious scent of your arousal.

When his tongue ran the length of you, hands splayed out against your soft stomach, you whimpered; brow furrowing and thighs naturally pressed either side of his head in your slumber.

He dared to push it a little further then, inserting a thick finger inside your soaked channel, curling up in a ‘come hither’ motion and pressing against that sensitive, spongey flesh inside you.

You startled him, your unconscious state reacting to him perfectly, fingernails gliding through his dark locks, scratching against his scalp. He couldn’t remember a time when someone had touched him so intimately, so softly.

He feasted between your thighs; suckling, nipping and lapping at every bit of you his mouth could find, your back arching up off the bed as you hummed in pleasure.

His tongue worked simultaneously with his fingers, your tight walls clenching around his knuckles in need, your body completely compliant to his touch.

When his lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking against you, he felt you quiver — your breath growing shallow and your grip tightening on his scalp.

He knew the signs, knew you were about to come apart in his mouth, and it only spurred him on. He couldn’t help the throaty moan that vibrates through your core, your sweet cunt seeping with the most delicious juices.

The softest of cry of relief fell from your lips, one final sweep of his tongue across your throbbing clit sending you spiralling; breaths ragged, your heartbeat battering in your chest as you came apart in his mouth.

He couldn’t help but nuzzle against your quivering thighs, the urge to crawl in bed next to you overwhelmingly strong. He knew he couldn’t though, that his mind was too hard wired to ignore direct instruction. He had to leave, had to leave you. And he fucking hated it.

Tentatively sliding your panties back up, covering you with the comforter, he watched you; the softest of smiles gracing your features beautifully and a gentle sigh escaping your mouth.

He pulled his shirt back over his head, settling the cap back on his head as he paused in the doorway to look back over his shoulder one more time.

The pull grew stronger each time he was near you, the desire to protect and care for you almost primal.

“Goodnight, sweet one.”


End file.
